Ivica Tori
Ivica Ileyna Tori is the face of the Honey Hatchets, a crime syndicate based on subtlety and employed almost entirely with women. Tori has been described as the Jill of all trades, as she is skilled in a number of fields including martial combat, gunmanship, mechanics, medical treatment, and history. She rules the Hatchets with an iron fist and will never hesitate to drop the axe on anyone who may be jeopardizing what she has built. Appearance Ivica Tori stands at 5’11”, slightly taller than your average female High Elf. Her structure is lithe, but she possesses a sinewy upper body strength that should not be underestimated and she fills out somewhat at the base with visible musculature in the legs. The slenderness of her body carries into her long face, making her cheekbones very pronounced. Her eyes are violet, speckled with rays of gold. She wears two rings through her left eyebrow and two more through her left nostril. Her right ear is coated in peircings from lobe to tip. Her left is only pierced at the lobe. She has a beauty mark centered beneath her right eye. Her arms and thighs are coated in tattooed one inch line segments. Each segment represents someone she has killed. Tori’s style is adaptable, just as she is. If she is getting down and dirty in the garage, she prefers practical and comfortable clothing. A sleeveless tunic, a utility belt, breeches with plenty of pockets, and heavy leather boots, her long sandy hair tied up into a messy bun, a ponytail, or a braid down her back. While out on the town, Tori is no stranger to higher vogue. She’ll wear elegant silk dresses with intricate designs and she lets her hair fall free or ties it up in elaborate braided buns. She dresses modestly to cover her tattoos. Her fingers are always adorned in rings of solid metal and heavy stones, which also make for effective improvised fist weapons in times of need. The High Elf is always in perfect control of her facial expression, which commonly manifests itself in a stern manner. Her body is relaxed, her shoulders sagging, arms dangling or resting easily on her hip. Her weight shifts effortlessly from one leg to the other, the weight-bearing hip jutting out delicately. Personality Ivica Tori is truly a woman of multiple faces and a Jill of all trades. She’s a tomboy with an oil-stained tunic, a pinch of Koyan sweet chewing tobacco in her cheek, and a knack for martial combat, gunmanship, and tinkering. She’s a socialite in a gorgeous gown who speaks in measured prose as precious as gold and whose eyes hold mystery and untold secrets yet conceal nothing. She’s a leader with the ferocity and determination to execute difficult decisions but with gentle compassion enough to foster trust in a business in which it is severely lacking. Make no mistake, winning Tori’s trust is a hard-fought feat. The paths of her past are paved in betrayal at many turns, and she has so much at risk. An entire empire, as she sees it. Though she lets her guard down slightly as she builds a relationship, even amongst her closest friends Tori is never overly eager to discuss the goingson of her personal life. She would rather share too little than disclose too much. No matter the circumstance, Tori always exudes an air of calm collectedness. She is calm as she weighs business options. She is calm as she convinces her clients to pay their debts. She is calm as she deals with law enforcement. And she is calm as she buries the head of her axe deep into the writhing torso of an adversary. Her placid demeanor should not be misinterpreted as a means to suppress her feelings, as though she has built an elaborate facade behind which she can hide her insecurities. Quite the contrary, Tori’s emotions are always present, boiling just beneath the surface, written clearly in the universal language of her amethyst eyes, eyes which by all accounts are so transfixing they could give any hypnotist’s pendulum clock a run for its money. Her eyes dance with nystagmus as they pierce the soul like flaming arrows through cloth, burning their impression upon it. Biography Ivica Ileyna Tori was born in western Sivverlynn. Her mother was a respected and high-ranking halberdier in the High Elven military. Her father was a silver-tongued politician. She inherited each of their strengths, equating to a keen agility of both mind and body. All those who met her as a knee-tall girl knew she was destined for greatness. She was a prodigy, some would claim. Though their assessments had certainly not fallen short of the mark, none would have predicted the form her prodigious destiny would take. Tori was born as the alliance between Sivverlynn and Utopia was beggining to sprout, and none were greater advocates for nurturing that alliance than Tori’s father Taanyr Tori. Taanyr argued brilliantly that Skyaard’s growing friendships with nations around the world made them a powerhouse of epic proportions. He urged his people to consider, however, that no one could ever contend with the High Elves when they had the world’s leading scientists at their back. The people of Sivverlynn heeded his wisdom, and within the season that he started his campaign, the Tori-Falanym family was sent south over the border where Taanyr Tori would begin his career as ambassador of Sivverlynn. The family landed in Rondale, a massively expansive city unlike anything the High Elves had ever seen. Taanyr Tori did not let the culture shock intimidate him. He set to work shaking hands and finding his bearings no later than he had finished unpacking his cart. It didn’t take long to discover that the people of Utopia were desperate for leadership, starved for direction. Since the Ascended had integrated and taken over politics and law, overall governance was severely lacking. Taanyr stepped up to the podium with a tenacity which made him not just a face for Sivverlynn, but a leader of Utopia. Things looked good for the Tori-Falanym family, but young Ivica was not pleased. Her father was too busy to tend to her properly. She felt neglected. In High Elven culture, children “play” by wandering their cities or towns and essentially apprenticing with local businesses until they find a skill in which they wish to hone. Utopia was different. Everything was so fast paced. Tradesmen were focused on mass production over artistry. A small child running around a shop was a hindrance, an unwelcome nuisance. Matters were made worse when Elwa Falanym, her mother, was sent on an escort mission through Err Jerak to defend Utopian scientists as they gathered data in the foreign land. With her father buried up to his neck in work and her mother over the eastern border, Tori was left alone in an unfamiliar and inhospitable city. She spent her days on the streets and at the market, learning and keeping herself entertained the best she could. To her surprise, she learned quite a lot in those days. She learned how to maneuver about the city. Which allies and back roads led where. How to clamber up to the rooftops. How the buildings interconnected forming effective tunnels through the city. She learned how to turn on her charm to get free apples from the friendly vendors. She learned intuition, which people to approach and which to avoid. One day as she was out milling about the Blackborough marketplace she was beckoned by an inconspicuous man sipping lavender tea. “Psst, hey girl,” he called. She approached the man cautiously. Joining the gentleman at the table were three other men, all Human. None of them looked at Tori, not even the man who had beckoned her near. “See this package at my feet?” he asked, still avoiding eye contact, his voice hushed. “Deliver it to the gentleman standing near the fountain. Tell him he dropped it. Tell him he’d best be more careful or the crows will get it next time. Tell him the crows are always watching. He’ll give you a pouch. Bring that pouch back to me, and I’ll give you a full gold piece.” A whole gold!? Tori came from an affluent family, but she’d never been allotted to carry more than a couple silver. And she’d certainly never earned a gold herself. She grabbed the package and met the man at the fountain. She noted that his face grew distorted, nervous perhaps, as she’d mentioned the part about the crows. But he regained his composure and traded her the promised pouch. Upon return, the gentleman nonchalantly secured the pouch and dug out a gold piece from within it. “Pleasure doing business with you, girl. I’ve seen you around. Perhaps we’ll do business again.” For the first time, the man met Tori’s eye. He winked, tipped his hat, and flipped the coin to her. Over the course of the next eight span, Tori came to recognize this man and others like him. She worked with them four, five, sometimes six days a span. It started simple, making more deliveries or sometimes just relaying messages. She was involved in something nefarious. Her work became more detailed. Her deliveries branched out over greater distances. She was a charming young girl in fine High Elven clothing. She could do things the adults couldn’t. No one would ever suspect her. She learned to pick pockets, manipulate locks, and cut purses. These strangers were taking advantage of her innocence, she realized. She didn’t mind though. She was happy to have work. Work to a High Elf child is play. She stole and she lied and she cheated people. She even slipped a tablet into someone’s tea once, at the behest of her supervisors, and watched from a distance as he collapsed, convulsing on the ground. The night after poisoning that man, Tori went home to heat the fire poker in the hearth. She burned a mark onto left shoulder. A scar to forever commemorate the life she had taken. Tori’s mother returned from her escort mission through Er Jerak. Falanym came with news of the largely uncharted land, as well as the exotic fauna and barbaric natives which lived there. She reported that the excursion had led to some scientific breakthroughs which would, “reshape the way of life for Utopians, perhaps all of Guero.” Though the excursion was a huge success, Falanym also returned with some less public news. She was pregnant with a half-elf child. The year to come was taxing on Tori. Her parents were at war, constantly bickering over trivial things. They slept in separate rooms. But in the eye of the public, the family was as jovial and idealistic as ever. In a position where his image and reputation meant everything, Taanyr believed it necessary to affect the behavior of a happy, healthy, and loving family. Behind closed doors, however, the truth shone through with the intensity of the sun above. It was exhausting. Tori spent her fifteenth birthday eating in silence while her parents quarreled. She was spending more time than ever, from sunup to sundown, with her new business partners. The group of scoundrels she’d been associating with identified as the Crows. They specialized in discretion, preferring to carry out their business subtly in public. As she’d begun to piece together, they favored Tori’s efforts because nothing was less conspicuous than an adorable young girl in wealthy clothing. The leader of the Crows, Tori had yet to meet. But each business arrangement concluded with the same phrase: “The crows are always watching. Listening. Waiting.” Work was a welcome distraction from life at home. Tori grew adept at fabricating stories about where she’d been to keep her parents off her back. She began sneaking out after dark, once her family had fallen asleep, for nighttime work. One night she had been sent on a routine burglary mission. Her objective was to procure an inscribed ring which her seniors claimed possessed arcane attributes and would fetch a pretty penny to the right fence. The house was in Eleuth, and the lock gave little resistance to Tori’s picks. All of the bedchambers were on the second story, Tori was informed. The ring was likely on ground level. It was the makings for an easy job. But Tori’s sense of security made her careless. As she was rifling through a drawer, she knocked a vase to the floor. The crash set her heart to racing. But she had never botched a job before and she had no plan to start now. She tore the house to pieces like a hurricane, digging in every nook and cranny. She would find the ring and get out, she insisted to herself. But she was too late. A strong callused hand caught her by the shoulder and spun her around. Patrol S.L.U.G.s escorted Tori home. Her father answered the door, still half asleep. Taanyr denied ever having met the girl presented before him. The next day, one of Taanyr’s assistants collected Tori from her holding cell. He’d posed as her father to get her released. Her true father, however, awaited at home. He was livid. He lectured her on the potential repercussions, and forbade her from leaving the house save in the presence of himself, her mother, or an appointed escort. Things looked bleak for Tori. She confined herself to her bed most days. The wiry tendrils of depression entangled and enveloped Tori. Autumn. The air was cool and dry that night. A fire was burning in the hearth, hissing and crackling quietly. Baby Junnun was swaddled in a fleece blanket, rocking to sleep in Elwa Falanym’s arms. Taanyr Tori marched into the room, a stark look written upon his face. “We can’t keep him,” he said. The flames set Taanyr’s shadow to dancing on the wall behind him. “He’ll ruin it all. Everything we’ve built. Everything we’ve worked for. There are plenty of great orphanages within the city or we could--” “I won’t let you take him away from me,” Falanym interrupted. “He looks nearly entirely Elven anyway, no one will ever know he isn’t yours.” “We can not keep him!” Taanyr repeated. This time it was not a suggestion. This time, there was no give to father Tori’s words. Elwa sprung to her feet with the blinding speed of a rabid jackal. In one swift motion, she swept the fire poker from its rack and struck Taanyr over the shoulder. He crumpled to the floor. Blood soaked into the fabric of Taanyr’s robes. Falanym stood over him, imposing, impossibly large and statuesque, the poker jutting out, inches from Taanyr’s chest. Baby Junnun began to cry, still wrapped up neatly in his mother’s arms. Ivica Tori sat motionless in her seat, her blood frozen over, her eyes transfixed to the fire, trying to forget what she had just witnessed. Tori couldn’t sleep. Outside a crow cawed unyieldingly, almost beckoning. She needed to do something, and she needed to do it soon. After her parents had fallen asleep, she crept through the house and snatched up her father’s coin purse. She added to it her own humble collection of coins she had squirreled away. She made sure to close the window she’d scrambled out behind her. The crow flew down and and landed at her feet, staring up, gazing deep into her eyes. It picked at its feathers, squawked, and flew to perch on a tree ten feet ahead. It stared back at Tori. Tori followed the crow several miles. The sun was just beginning to meet the horizon when the crow had led Tori to a storage shed in an overgrown yard in Leyfield. It was filled with rusty tools and other miscellaneous objects. Generation after generation of spiders had littered the interior with cobwebs. It had clearly been a year or more since the shed had last been used. Tori found her new home. Over the next 60 years, Ivica continued working alongside the Crows. She tattooed a tally mark somewhere on her body for each life she took along the way. She finally met Carra Overby, the woman in charge of the Crow operations. She was an elderly human woman whose wisdom was beyond Tori’s comprehension. Connections through the Crows and Overby led Tori to find new passions. She learned self-defense, explosives engineering, tinkering, medicine, and a handful of other trades. She made money anyway she could. One of her fondest steady jobs was cage fighting at the Dragon’s Den. Tori eventually made herself a small fortune through her work, upgrading houses in upgraded neighborhoods. She also watched as immigrants poured into the city from all around the world. Most astounding to her was the implementation of the Elven Quarter. Largely in part of her own father, High Elves were revered among the people of Utopia. As they flocked into the city, High Elves found instant hospitality, and naturally pooled up with other High Elves, entirely taking over the culture and style of a section of the city. Though she had not spoken to her family since that fateful night near the fireplace, Tori also learned that she had two new siblings, a sister and a brother, in addition to Junnun who had come of age. Junnun, Kaya’alu, and Syron had become significant public figures who helped carry on the Tori-Falanym family legacy. Midsummer night. Ivica Tori was accustomed to the watchful presence of Overby’s crows. She was strolling through Leyfield with a satchel bag of contraband, looking for some late-night itchers with whom to make a deal, but tonight she could not feel the crows. She looked around. The streets were empty. Now it wasn’t simply Overby’s absence that uneased her. It was a sheer absence, as though all other life had been wiped clean of existence. She didn’t panic. She never panicked. But she knew something was amiss. WHACK! Something cold and sinister cracked the back of her head. She saw a pair of pale legs in stiletto slippers just before her head met the cobblestone. Then there was nothing. Only blackness She woke up with the sun at her back to a gentle voice asking if she was alright. The street was busy with people around her as they made their way through the morning routine. She assured the stranger that she was fine and pulled herself to her feet. Her head was throbbing. An intense pain nagged at her right shoulder. A cheap dagger pinned a bloodied note to her bicep. All of her belongings were gone. Nearly 100 gold pieces worth of illegal goods, gone. She wrenched the knife from her arm and read the parchment. We have had our eye on you, Ivica Tori You are hereby cordially invited to join the numbers of the Kingpin’s army If you are not our ally, you are our enemy Meet us today at noon at the Wasp Nest for a formal interview and a drink on us. Meet us or meet your maker Cheers! The Weeping Widow & �� She had to be honest with herself. Tori was a bit intimidated, an alien emotion for her. She had never even seen her attacker coming. She had no time to react. She had been ambushed by a woman in high heeled slippers. It wouldn’t have taken much more for her assailant to have killed Tori. But it wasn’t for the coercive nature of her “cordial” invitation that Tori showed up to the Wasp Nest in Leyfield that day. It was out of aspiration for improvement and desire for mentorship. Clearly Tori still had more to learn. The Wasp Nest was about what Tori expected from a tavern in the most poverty-stricken district in town at noon. Old grizzled men with very little money and even less self control lined the bar top. The barman wore a disgruntled look on his face. The barmaid swatted away libidinous hands while balancing drinks on a tray. Such a sorry crowd made Tori’s task of picking out her interviewers simple. A group of three sat at a table in the corner of the tavern. They seemed content to sit in silence. An Ogre, massive even by Ogre standards. He sat shirtless staring dumbly at the wall like a deactivated S.LU.G. The bodyguard, Tori thought. A human. He too was massive. Maybe the fattest man Tori had ever seen. The man’s silk tunic alone cost a fortune grander than any other man in the saloon was likely to see in a lifetime. He was ludicrously adorned in jewelry. His cloak was iridescent and entirely unnecessary on such a warm summer day. Atop his dome was perched a crown befitting the king of Symonia. Clearly a man who would call himself “the Kingpin”. Finally, a Dark Elf sitting stiff as a board, hands interlaced and resting on the table. She was intent, her presence was palpable. She wore only black, a sharp contrast to her well-exposed, snow white skintone. Long black hair, a black corset, a knee-length black skirt, and black leather stilletoed boots. Only her thin surcoat gave her some semblance of modesty. Dark markings (a racial trait of Dark Elves) drew lines from the duct of either eye to its corresponding collar bone. The Weeping Widow, she knew. Ivica stepped to the table and took a seat. The Human and the Dark Elf studied Tori, their expressions unchanged. The Ogre continued to stare straight ahead as though he were entirely oblivious. “So,” Tori chimed at last, “I was promised a drink.” A heavy silence. Three solemn faces held sturdy as castle walls, six unwavering eyes clashed like swords. Finally the Kingpin broke a smile. Then a chortle. A hearty belly laugh. “Ooooh, she’s good!” he exclaimed, letting his meaty palm clap on the tabletop. Tori’s drink came, and the Kingpin introduced himself and his associates. Guthroth the Ogre bodyguard (Guthroth never took his eyes off that wall. He offered only a meaningful grunt once introduced.) Reyn Vancse, also known as the Weeping Widow, his reconnaissance officer and chief recruiter. And of course, he was the Kingpin, the new “ruler of the city,” he claimed. The interview went well. Tori, the Widow, and the Kingpin connected easily and the conversation flowed as freely as the honeyed mead. The Kingpin had been in the underground business for years and years, but he had a vision. He would take out his competitors, make things more organized, form a militia of crooks and scoundrels, and take Rondale by conquest. The idea was still fresh, and Tori was offered a position at the ground floor. Of course, there was a minor catch. Tori could not conduct any business outside of guild sanctioned work. This meant she would have to give up her private affairs and cut ties with the Crows. The next morning, Tori went to inform Overby. “Oh yes, I know,” the old woman said, “my crows see much, Ivica. I can’t say whether the Kingpin plans to invite me aboard or not, but I don’t plan to accept. I think it’s time this old crow left the nest. It’s been my sincere pleasure to work with you and watch you grow into a fine young lady.” A week later, Tori helped Overby pack her belongings onto a cart headed for Symonia. “One last thing,” Carra Overby said before departing, “your father would be very proud of you, and he misses you very much.” With that, she was gone. Tori’s new job took some adjustment. She wasn’t used to responding to the will and whim to anyone’s orders. All of her work prior had been freelance. She could accept or decline without worry. The Kingpin’s business was different. Everything needed to adhere to schedule, and Tori needed to be subordinate. Once she found her footing, the work was incredibly satisfying. The Kingpin had a knack for management. The cohesive teamwork and its tremendous results were exhilarating. Furthermore, the networking was a remarkable perk for a socialite such as Tori. She’d bonded quickly and easily to Reyn Vancse. Through Reyn she met Harmon Vutap, a Human alchemist and the Widow’s fiance. She grew tight to a Human named Jorus Gossah, a strange and powerful warlock (a word which meant very little to Tori) assassin. Later on she was introduced to a young Gnome with a sharp wit by the name of Jaeg Roottrip. Things went well, and the community of thieves, killers, and contraband dealers were happy, until the Kingpin let the wealth go to his head. He grew greedy, hungry for more money and more power. He would cut pay without warning and punish people without reason. On more than one occasion, in a drunken or drugged up state, the Kingpin had tried to force himself on Tori. When she refused he ordered her to be beaten. Fortunately no single man or woman was foolish enough to attempt to pummel Tori. It was easier to simply lie to the Kingpin, who would likely forget by morning anyway. But he was dangerous, and one wrong step could spell certain destruction for anyone in his presence. So when Elran Gentrieve IV (formerly known as Jaeg Roottrip) came to Tori with a plan to usurp the Kingpin, Tori was among the first to agree. She became a little less eager when she learned his plan. Ivica’s role in the Gnome’s strategy was as the diversion. Get the Kingpin out of his room so the others could poison his personal drug supply. Then seduce the Kingpin into imbibing in the sabotaged wraithrose. His death would look like an accidental case of overdose, and no one would be the wiser. Gentrieve knew it wouldn’t be convincing to the Kingpin if Tori didn’t partake as well, so he prepared her with an antidote to save herself. The plan was risky. She had to pretend to love the man she wanted to kill. Then she had to poison herself, trusting that the poison wouldn’t take hold before she could administer herself the antidote. It was a well-laid scheme, and as much as she dreaded putting it in motion, she accepted. The end of summer, nearing fall. The weather was crisp but still comfortable. Ivica was in the back of a carriage, hand entwined in the grubby grasp of the Kingpin. She presented the most convincing smile she could muster and laughed at all the right times. She embraced the Kingpin in a warm hug each time a combatant died in the arena and she locked hands with him once again on the way back to his chamber. The Kingpin lived in an enormous suite at the Hotel Gentrieve. She walked him up the stairs to the door of his unit. He waved off the guards to allow her passage and together they entered the characteristically gaudy suite. It was then that she knew she had him. The answer presented itself so clearly in this pretentious display of wealth. Any uncertainty Tori had melted away, dissipated within the instant of her revelation. The Kingpin sat at the edge of his bed. “I love this room,” Ivica bluffed with exuberant conviction. “You know, nothing gets a girl going more than a little wraithrose.” It wasn’t the subtlest hint, but subtlety wasn’t necessary here. The notion that wraithrose stimulated intimate sensations was well known. At that point, however, Tori could have asked for anything. She had the Kingpin in her pocket. She had him figured out. There was nothing in the world the Kingpin loved more than being impressive. He wanted people to gasp in awe at who he was and what he could do. He wanted the power to make and break a person’s dreams. She slowly unbuttoned her gown, still gazing around the room in masqueraded amazement. The Kingpin was mesmerized. Her attire that evening, as was her style, was demure, leaving much to the imagination. Here he was getting his first glimpse, a fantasy come to life, slowly before his very eyes. She worked the buttons of her dress with willful repose, as though time had slowed by half, teasing the man until it was all he could do not to drool. She bared her collar, her cleavage, the outline of each breast. Then she stopped. Her arms dropped and time caught up again. Her gaze, previously fixed to a banner on the wall, darted rapidly to his. He was caught entirely off guard. He scrambled to correct the mistake. His eyes raced up to meet hers. He was too late. She had caught him lusting after her. She simply bit her bottom lip, gently and provocatively. He tried to play it off to make up for lost ground. His expression quickly swapped from that of a man held at gunpoint to that of a man in charge. He leaned back casually on his bed casually. “Mmm, yes, I suppose I could secure us a bit of wraithrose.” The next morning Tori woke up to the guards storming the room. In her haze, and amidst all the sudden excitement, Tori nearly forgot her lines. They found her quickly. “Oh my!” she screamed beneath crocodile tears, “I can’t believe this has happened! Someone call a medic! Oh dear, what will we do!?” Gentrieve’s plan went entirely according to plan. There was one very important detail he neglected to tell the others, however. He accused Tori and Vancse for the murder of the Kingpin. He claimed the throne for himself and had the two Elves thrown into dungeons. Gentrieve eventually pardoned Tori, after dragging her name through the mud and executing Vancse, but she was exiled. She was sent to Sivverlynn, where she lived for only a few span before she grew tired of the pompous attitudes so prominently displayed by the High Elves. She snuck her way back into Rondale, living in the shadows. She was still in disbelief, udderly defeated, and infuriated all her hard work had been for naught. She took to drinking heavily, spending what coin she’d been allowed to part with from the dungeon at taverns. Once again she was in the sickening grasp of depression. A cold winter night. Tori had been thrown on the streets after drunkenly starting a skirmish at the tavern. The ale had gone to her head and she was struggling to keep her balance. A crow swooped down within inches of her face then pulled up to land in the tree above her. CAW, CAW! it cried. She peered up into the tree. The foliage had all scattered away many moons ago, leaving the silhouette of the crow unobstructed. It glared down in discontent. Tori was reminded of the last thing Carra Overby said before departing. Tori let herself into her family’s house with her handy lock picks. Can I even call them family anymore, she wondered. The beautiful estate in the Elven Quarter was quiet. A candle burned in an adjacent room. “Hello Ivica,” a voice grumbled as she stumbled into the room. “Dad?” Her father pushed himself into the light. He had aged visibly. Gout had taken him and he was resigned to a wheelchair. She fell to her knees. The candlelight glistened off her tears. She told him everything. It was the most vulnerable she had been since she was a child. She made a pot of tea, and together they sat, father and daughter, talking until sunrise. That morning she met Kaya’alu and Syron for the first time, her estranged sister and brother. For the first time to his memory, she met Junnun, her half brother. She greeted her mother Elwa with a heartfelt hug. “It wouldn’t be good, for either of us, to be seen together,” Taanyr told her. “You should go.” She knew it was true. If she were caught within Rondale city limits, Gentrieve would put a bounty on her head worth a king’s ransom. She gave her father one last hug and made her leave. That night refueled Tori. Her father had apologized for the stress he had put on her at such a young age. He was sorry he neglected her. He told her to take revenge. He advised her that there was only one type of revenge that would get to Gentrieve. Everyone in his life was dispensable, so she couldn’t kill his loved ones. Death was too sweet a release, he deserved worse. Taanyr convinced Tori that he needed to beat Gentrieve at his own game. She needed to start her own syndicate and run him out of business. Most importantly of all though, Taanyr told his daughter he was proud of her. And so Tori used her newfound vigor to start her own crime organization. She employed almost entirely women. Misogyny was a natural enemy of her empire. Besides, as she learned growing up, women are innately less conspicuous than men. She based her syndicate on subtlety at first out of necessity, but kept the trend as it proved advantageous. She kept her underlings happy and rewarded them for their loyalty. Tori focused her precious free time on refining her skill set further. She designed built a pair of one-handed sawed-off shotguns. She engineered bots which could repair her other devices, reload her weapons, and dress wounds. Most iconically, she invented the vicious Doomboard, her trusty stead which carries her, tearing through the street. She continued training in combat and studying. Only four span after Tori’s Honey Hatchets had taken off, Reyn Vancse surfaced out of nowhere. Tori thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. “You’re dead! Gentrieve had you killed!” Tori exclaimed. “Gentrieve lied. I escaped. He fabricated my death to save face, and he spared you because he was too craven to kill you,” she replied. The two decided it best to keep the world believing Vancse was dead. She could do much more if no target ever appeared over her head. Two span after Vancse’s reappearance, a crow led Tori to a shed, the same shed she’d stayed in as a girl. Carra Overby stepped out from the shed. The Hatchets have since made an incredible impact on Rondale, and Utopia in general. A firecracker of a Halfling joined the syndicate. She ambushed Tori with a pitch for an illegal silk smuggling operation based in Fetsch. Tori and Vancse created a perfect hideout and cargo area within abandoned mines beneath Palladia. Today, Tori still sneaks into her father’s house in the dead of night occasionally for advice or simply to catch up. Their relationship remains strong, though they keep it strictly private.